Sheer Death
by MoonMyst
Summary: They always knew their love would bring their demise - they just never thought it would come so quickly.


**Sheer Death**

**By: M o o n M y s t**

**01.16.04**

She sat, soft blonde flowing heedlessly down her sloping shoulders. Her smile was crazed – beautiful, but insanely so. An icy breeze wafted through the room, a slight tingle running up my own spine, but not faltering hers. She never shivered. 

The frost upon her heart kept her from feeling any sensation of cold, but she always delighted in the fact that I was human. Strange how she loved to see me suffer, yet almost seemed remorseful when she hurt me. I never truly understood her.

The soft echo of silence surrounded us – she upon a leather chair, and me, crossed-legged upon a thick white carpet. It was uncomfortable in our current situation, though. She seemed content to be lost in her own thoughts, not thinking of me, but of some grand death she envisioned for herself.

That was the reason she was here – to die. I had known it when she first crossed the threshold. She was a warrior woman of great strength, and did not belong in such a peaceful world. I knew my words would not change her stubborn mind, but I tried anyway, hoping in some way that she would not carry out her intricately designed plan. For I was the key part of it – I was the one who was to kill her.

But I would rather not dwell upon that point, but rather on the woman herself. She was so strong – so inconceivably strong that I could not look her in the eye without flinching. I don't know why she wanted me so – I was everything she detested – weak, sympathetic, kind – we had nothing in common. Nothing, that is, but love.

"Quatre." She whispered, her breath heating the back of my neck. Once again, I shook on the inside, praying that my terrified feelings weren't apparent from the outside. She slid down from her chair to sit next to me, slim hand upon my cheek. I looked into those un-crying ice eyes with renewed strength. She scrutinized me, eyes wandering about my body curiously. Her stare frightened me beyond all other things – a fear that I quelled in my heart.

Her pale hands made their way up my head to touch my own golden locks. She smiled as she twisted them between each thin finger. I let her go on without any sort of hindrance, though at times she would tug at my hair, causing a slight utterance from my mouth. Why did she torture me when she knew it hurt? Why didn't I ever stop her? Question without answers are the basis of my life.

"Please." I heard my own voice say, though I had issued no order to my lips. She peered ever more intently at me, and smirked her knowing smirk. However, she did stop.

"Why do you love me, Quatre?" Dorothy asked, head tilting to the side in genuine interest. 

Her eyes were sorrowful, but energetic – a madness in cerulean. I hated to answer her, mostly for the fact that I had no answer – and if there was one thing I hated, it was not being able to give Ms. Dorothy everything she wanted. 

"I don't know." Was my weak reply. I felt me skin twist into a frown sadly as if I had wronged her in some grave way.

But somehow she smiled even absurdly. It was a beautiful smile, but I detested it – knowing that it was only from my failure that she took enjoyment in. My pain was her happiness – and not matter how hard I tried to suppress my own happiness in hers, I could not. Perhaps that was what scared me most – her ability to mold my thoughts and emotions.

Her hands grazed my cheek, its freezing temperament breaking through any wall I had tried to build. If I had put up any exterior, it was only to protect myself – I knew we would ultimately me each other's ends, but consequence was fleeting from my mind rapidly. My hearts raced faster as hand sought hand. I couldn't deny my need, and so wrapped my own frail fingers around hers. 

The promise I had made to myself was breaking as I touched her cold skin. The contact was so compulsive on my part that she looked up at me in surprise. She gazed at me with new interest. Her eyes lit a fire within my soul – a passion burning, her pleasure my fuel.

Hesitantly, I moved closer to her until I could feel Dorothy's even breathing. Her chest rose and then sunk again, her body supplying itself with the necessary factors for life. By capturing her own life-force, I felt new power. My lips pressed harder against hers, and she reacted instantly, only even more intensely. It was nearly more than I could take – her passion. She was so resilient and I was so inadequate. Near opposite, yet equal. What a paradox we were.

But breaking away, I remembered her reasoning for coming to me in the first place – and it saddened me. She didn't want to live. Yet again, another difference between us. I loved living, but she despised it. How could I love something I didn't understand? Once again, I don't know.

"Miss Catalonia." I said, pleading with her. 

But she only hushed me with her lips. She was cruel to me – only thinking of her own needs, and yet, I was happy to fulfill them. I tried to be gentle, but she forced me – pushing me further into a state of unreasonable bewilderment. I couldn't control anything – the world in front of me spun, a collection of colours and emotions. Somehow we made it to the bedroom, where she wasted no time in doing as she pleased. 

I was a young twenty years of age, and still discovering the world, but Dorothy made it all the more clear. She was fierce, but calm, and took my feelings into consideration as well as hers. The intoxication of it all nearly made me swoon, but the fact that she was relying on me, kept me thriving. 

It all happened so fast, and yet it was antagonizingly slow. So naïve was I. But somehow I endured. She was so different – as if I was seeing a different woman. I wasn't quite sure if I like this new Dorothy, but it was an eccentric change from that of whom I knew.

The moon was full and beaming, smiling regretfully at us. She was still sleeping, for once at peace. I pushed aside platinum strands, smiling amiably at the few fragments I had of what had happened. I knew what I had to do.

I pulled at the nightstand draw slowly, fearing any sound might wake her. She tossed a bit, but did not wake. Closing me eyes to hide the pain, though no one could see it – I knew Dorothy would be ashamed if she knew how much it pained me to do what I had to. It was her last request – "don't feel a thing."

The gun was silver, smooth and sheen. The light from the moon danced upon its alluring metal surface. I had to say that at that moment, I truly did want to kill her – a certain rush flowed sadistically through me, and I sighed precariously.

I placed last kiss upon her check – nothing exceedingly intimate, yet it gave me a sense of closure. Moisture set into my eyes, but I held them back with all my might – she woman who never cried wouldn't have wanted me to.

Everything about that night was infuriatingly lingering and thankfully sudden. I didn't want to feel what it was like to kill someone I loved in cold blood, but it was her last request – and I hated not giving Miss Catalonia what she wanted.

The shot was strong, but I was too numb to feel my body swaying backwards. I didn't dare look at her mangled body. She had always frightened me, but now this fear was not unfound. I stared into the sky, my heart lying in pieces for the brilliant sky to see. I told myself that it was what she wanted – that it was justified. But I couldn't help thinking that maybe if I had tried to talk her out of it – she might have listened. But she would never have heeded me anyway. And then she might have died unhappily. 

I couldn't help but gaze dazedly into the darkness, my thoughts broken. I turned to where she lay, and took her hand. I had loved the woman without tears. With a sorrowful whisper I ended our love.

"I'm sorry."


End file.
